


Rescue

by ThetaSigma



Series: Mad Doc Watson [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, John Watson is BAMF, M/M, Mad Doc Watson, Sherlock's military kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 02:06:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13893966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThetaSigma/pseuds/ThetaSigma
Summary: Sherlock wasn't entirely sure he'd heard all the stories of what John -- Mad Doc Watson -- had gotten up to while a soldier. Then again, how many crazy things can one man do?A run-in with someone at a hospital has him reevaluating that. Apparently, John's been hiding things from him.





	Rescue

Several months had passed since their meeting with Captain Murray. Sherlock had tried to find out more about John’s military career, but John always answered with, “Sherlock, I was a soldier, that’s all.”

(Sherlock always answered, “You were a _captain_.”

“Well, yes, that too. But there’s nothing to tell, really.”)

Sherlock has the distinct feeling John isn’t telling him everything, but he’s seen the way John downplays his achievements. Then again, maybe those two incidents he knows of _are_ everything – just how much crazy shit could one soldier – even a captain – get up to? 

*** 

There’s a case – several murdered, and the latest victim had managed to live and was in hospital now. Sherlock and John are on their way there, after Sherlock _swore_ he’d behave himself when questioning the victim, but he needed _data_. 

Sherlock’s studying the latest text from Lestrade – written in a hurry, misspelled – when a young man in uniform comes up to them. Sherlock ignores him; there’s nothing to indicate the man has anything to do with their current case, and since he doesn’t, Sherlock doesn’t much care what the man has to say to him.

But the young man – Private McWilliams, Sherlock notes absently, taking in the rank insignia and the name – ignores Sherlock and looks at John.

“Wow,” McWilliams breathes. “I never thought… I never thought I’d actually _meet_ General Watson!” He snaps a salute. “Sir!”

_That_ makes Sherlock look up in interest. “General? No, you have the wrong person, John was a captain.”

“Uhh…” the man says, staring between them. “No, Da had a picture.”

Sherlock frowns, and John lays a hand on Sherlock’s arm. “Actually, he’s right, Sherlock. I _was_ a general.”

Sherlock _stares_. “You were a _general_ , and you didn’t think that was _important_?”

“No, not really,” John says. “Took me out of the field, I hated that.” He turns to McWilliams. “Your father is Major McWilliams, isn’t he?”

McWilliams nods.

“How is he doing? Did he recover okay?”

“Thanks to you.”

Sherlock’s veering from aroused to annoyed. There’s a story here, data about John, his favourite person in the world, and he doesn’t _know the story_. “What did John do?” he asks.

“Really, Sherlock, nothing,” John protests, but Sherlock ignores him. John has a distressing tendency to think _heroic achievements_ are ‘nothing’.

Private McWilliams lights up. “Oh, I’ve heard this story so many times from Da,” he says. “General Watson was the reason I wanted to be a soldier too. So, Da got captured by the Taliban, taken to some place out in the middle of nowhere and tortured. He didn’t give up any information, and they were getting antsy. Turns out, he wasn’t the only one captured – there were at least 20 soldiers in that compound, all in isolation, starved and dehydrated.”

He frowns apologetically. “This bit, Da didn’t know until later, so his details aren’t so clear, sorry. Maybe General Watson can tell this part?”

John sighs. “The military didn’t want to divert resources into what was looking to be a suicide mission. They were _negotiating_ to turn over some of our prisoners for the ones these men had, but the negotiations weren’t going well. We knew where the compound was, and there was no cover for nearly half a mile around the house – no way in.”

Sherlock recognises that a truly _insane_ Mad Doc story is coming up.

John shrugs. “So I went in. Simple.”

McWilliams shakes his head. “I… sir, I hate to disagree, but you’re leaving out the really good parts.” He turns to Sherlock. “So, as one of the base commanders told Da later, General Watson here had someone fly over the compound and _parachuted_ in. By himself. He got to the ground and was summarily captured. Apparently, that was actually part of his plan?”

John nods. “Yes, definitely.”

“He’d hidden a gun on himself – er, reports weren’t clear where, but….”

John snorts. “Of course not. The military hardly wanted to acknowledge I’d hidden a gun _there_.”

Sherlock’s eyes widen. “You _hid a gun in your arse_?”

“Safety was on.”

“Jesus _fuck_ , John, you’re _insane_. Did you feel like you had to live up to your nickname?”

John gives an eloquent half-shrug. “More necessity than anything, really.”

McWilliams continues, “So he shot the first person to enter his cell, stripped _them_ of their guns, and went to free as many captives as he could. I guess you thought they’d help you fight?”

“That was my plan, yes,” John says cheerfully. “’Cept they were all weak from the torture, so that bit didn’t work out like I planned.”

“So he took the building back _single-handedly_ , shot every goddamn Taliban agent in there, and freed all of them. My da was bleeding, and General Watson dug up a medical kit and said, ‘Well, no anaesthesia, so I’m afraid this is gonna hurt a bit’, then proceeded to stitch him up. Da hadn’t realised the general was a doctor, too. The doctors back at the station told him without General Watson’s intervention at the time, Da would’ve bled out. As soon as the general took care of the prisoners, made sure everyone would live, he found a phone and called base. Da told me he overheard General Watson’s half, and it went like this:

“‘General Watson calling. …. No, of course it is, how the fuck do you think I got this number, fucking _Google_? …. Fine, give me Major Burrows. …. This is General Watson, I need several vehicles at the following location. …. Well, the goddamn military wasn’t doing anything to save them, so I went in. …. Major, _I_ outrank _you_ , you’ll do well to remember that. Now send the fucking vehicles.’”

Sherlock stares at John in awe. “You _saved twenty prisoners_ from the _Taliban_ by _yourself_?”

“Some of them didn’t have enough time to wait for negotiations. But no, the army was more concerned that I’d left the base ‘unattended’ and they finally listened to me when I told them I’d rather be in the field.”

“You _asked_ to go back on the front lines?”

“Of course. Desk work was dull. You of all people should understand that decision.”

Sherlock blinks rapidly, trying to assimilate this new data about his husband. Not _Captain_ Watson, _General_ Watson. Who’d _asked_ to go back on the front lines. “Murray still refers to you as Captain,” he says finally.

“Yeah, my men did. Sign of respect, actually. I wasn’t some arsehole directing from behind a desk, I was in the thick of things with them.”

“I… we need to go home. Right now, John.”

John smirks and turns to Private McWilliams. “Tell your father I say hello, will you? And to look me up if he’d like.”

“I… _of course_. General, it’s been an _honour_. I wanted an action figure of you when I was younger. You were my hero.”

John smiles self-deprecatingly. “I was just doing my job, Private.”

“Da seems to think differently. He followed all the news about you until your discharge, and now he checks your blog daily for new posts. He thinks the world of you.”

“Address is on the blog, tell him to stop by one day. You too, Private.”

“ _Sir!_ ” Private McWilliams is _awed_ by this, clear in his tone.

“Yes, yes, but not for a couple days at least,” Sherlock says impatiently, tugging on John’s arm. “John!”

“What about the case?” John asks as Sherlock pushes him towards the door. “Living victim? Lestrade waiting?”

“Who _cares_ about the _case_ , John? I just found out my husband was a _general_.”

“Yes. Yes, he was. Problem?”

“Only if he doesn’t bugger me as soon as possible.”

John stifles his laughter. Christ, he’d known about his husband’s military kink, but he didn’t realise it was _this_ bad.

*** 

Lestrade storms into the flat the next morning, raging. “I waited _three hours_ for you, Sherlock!” he snaps before Sherlock is even in sight. “I _texted_ a dozen times! I even _called_ … Sherlock?” He doesn’t see any sign of the mad prat.

“Sherlock?” he calls.

_“Fuck yes, General, please!”_ he hears Sherlock from the bedroom.

Lestrade freezes. _General?_ Lestrade distinctly remembers Sherlock telling him John had been a _captain_. He hopes, really really hopes, that they’re role-playing right now, and not that he just accidentally caught Sherlock with a general. He has no idea how he’d explain _that_ to John.

_“I say when you come, Holmes, not you. Which one of us in charge?”_ Lestrade relaxes. That was definitely John’s voice.

Lestrade starts creeping out of the flat. Not something he needs to overhear. He’ll give Sherlock a piece of his mind later.

_“Oh, God, you, sir, you! Aaaah! General!”_

Just… roleplaying, then. Lestrade hurries down the stairs. Right. He definitely tries not to think about it. Not his business, he repeats as a mantra.

But…. Lestrade’s not an idiot. There’s not much that can turn Sherlock’s mind away from a case. So something happened in the hospital last night before Sherlock arrived. And now he’s calling John _General_. Lestrade would wager the two are definitely connected.

He stares up at the windows to the flat. The thought is now definitely niggling at him. Was John a general, not a captain?

Fuck, what’s that man doing working locum at a surgery and chasing Sherlock around? Lestrade snorts. Unravelling the mystery that is John Watson (Mad Doc Watson!) is far beyond him. He’s not even sure it’s one Sherlock can solve.

**Author's Note:**

> So, there will definitely be at least two more in this series. I keep having ideas of crazy things Mad Doc could've done in Afghanistan.


End file.
